


show_me

by forcefields



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Bi-Curious Wrench, Bisexual Marcus Holloway, Couch Sex, Dom!Marcus(ish), M/M, One Night Stand, Top!Marcus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcefields/pseuds/forcefields
Summary: marcus obliges to wrench's request.





	show_me

It started out innocent enough. Usually stayed that way, too. The little unspoken thing between them? The little unspoken thing only he, Marcus Holloway, believed to have silently acknowledged? It remained, comfortably, unspoken. He didn't want to say something he was pretty damn sure he'd regret, given Wrench seemed as straight as it got. Marcus had thought he was the same way for, basically, his whole life. But then, straight outta nowhere –

Wrench slammed his elbow into Marcus’ side, knocking the air out his lungs and the thoughts out his head. “Holy _shit_ , man! Why’s he taking it in the ass?!”

Marcus’ pupils were blown wide by the scene swiftly unfolding onscreen. “Holy _fuck_! This is the _wrong_ Jimmy Siska movie!”

Holloway practically threw himself off the couch, snatching up the remote in seconds and switching off the fucked up mistake of an illegal download before they had to bear witness to any more. Weirdly – embarrassingly – he found his breathing to be slightly elevated by the emergency of the stupid situation. Wrench didn’t notice.

“Hey!” said man called out, clearly, surprisingly annoyed, “I wasn’t complaining!”

Caught off-guard, Marcus had a moment before he realised Wrench was ‘staring’ pretty intensely – and, even worse, blankly – at him. Brain on an all-time-blank, he responded with what had to be the worst possible response a guy could give to new, very relevant information. “Oh.”

The quiet dragged out. It nearly killed him, and despite being unsure what the hell else to say, Marcus was about to spit out something stupid when Wrench cut to the chase. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable –”

At this stage, he sincerely wished he could’ve laughed off the situation. But it was too far gone now. “No –” _Shit, don’t say that!_ “I mean, _yeah_ , it does. C’mon, man, it’s some old white dude getting boned. Who the hell enjoys watching that?”

It was a pretty good question, he had to say, but he wasn’t looking for the answer to it. When Wrench’s expression flickered, that was enough for Marcus to point the remote threateningly. “Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical.”

“Got it.” the masked hacktivist said slowly, rising to a stand, “You alright, Marcus?”

Funny. That was about the last thing he fucking was. He could only hope to any and all gods out there he wasn’t blushing like a fool. Rubbing the back of his neck, Marcus’ gaze flickered to the fridge. “I’m good, just - tired. Want a drink?”

“I’m good.”

Gradually, he brought his eyes back to Wrench, asked “you sure?” and, literal seconds later, noticed something that drastically ramped up his alertness. The other man’s arms were folded across his chest. “You don’t look it.”

“Really,” Wrench affirmed, sarcasm _just_ detectable in his tone, “no problems here.”

“Well,” Marcus replied, petty enough to push his sunglasses right down his nose, “I call bullshit.”

Wrench’s ‘eyes’ beheld the undeniable emotion of being fairly pissed off. Marcus could’ve cringed. How much of a hard-on did he have for Jimmy – shit, if it were this severe, he didn’t stand a chance with the guy. Figuring he was near to a bad case of the silent treatment, and lacking in anything else smart to say during the short time he probably had left before Wrench shut down on him, Marcus did what he did best. He said what came to mind.

“Just how gay are you, man?”

Those pixelated eyes turned into O’s. Momentarily, silence held them again, until the masked man spoke. “I don’t know.”

Marcus squinted. “You...don’t know?”

“I don’t think,” Wrench tried again, “I’m one-hundred-percent straight.”

Something in his head told him to be happy about this. Something else warned him heavily not to get too excited. Removing his glasses and placing them on the countertop beside him, Marcus shrugged. “I don’t think anybody is.”

“So, you’re not?”

Again, caught off-guard. He needed to get better at the whole ‘predicting people’s thought processes’ thing. There had to be a class for that shit somewhere, right? “No, I’m not.” He hesitated – then wondered why he needed to hesitate. Wrench was his best friend, for one thing, anyway. For another... “I’m bisexual.”

He kinda wished Sitara or Josh – or both – would enter the Hackerspace and break this conversation before it went any further. Tension coiled in his throat. He didn’t find it hard to breathe, nah, but talking? Talking’d be a challenge now. Especially with Wrench’s current non-responsiveness. Jesus, why’d he admit it? His sexuality was some deeply personal shit that _no-one_ knew about. Save the few guys and girls he’d slept with over the years, he guessed. “Wrench, uh, I...I’m gonna get that drink.”

He smiled so fucking awkwardly, every last bit of self-esteem he’d had left died with it. The sooner he’d downed something, the better.

“‘Guide me, oh Mighty and Wise Men-Loving-Man.”

He turned on his heels, facing the other man with an expression of sheer shock. The parodied, over-the-top, deep voice was typical of Wrench, yeah, but the words – was he hearing things in the middle of some serious self-pity? “What?”

Wrench tensed up for a second, but relaxed just as swiftly. He released an almost inaudible sigh, pale hands inside his hood, behind his masked head. With two definitive clicks, it was off. The mask was _fucking off_. Marcus’ heart could’ve imploded. Luckily, they weren’t living in hyper-reality, so instead he gawked at that unmistakable, irreplaceable face, his dark brown irises stuck in those oceanic blues.

“Show me.” Wrench uttered, at a fairly confident volume despite his beacon of confidence being gone, “what it’s like.”

“To...what?” Marcus purposefully drew out, not wanting to come to any conclusions too quickly. Clearly, this frustrated the anarchist, his expression so much more readable – and somehow increasingly animated – without his mask.

“Marcus...”

“Alright, alright.” he said, raising his hands in surrender, advancing over to Wrench, the shameless whine in the voice of his best friend – the man he had deep-running feelings for, who actually wanted to fucking be with him right now, _fuck_ \- confirmation enough that they were both thinking the same thing. “If that’s what you want. You sure you wanna keep the mask off?”

“Yeah,” Wrench breathed, zero hesitation, “I wouldn’t – wouldn’t do this with anyone else, but I feel safe with you, so...”

“So,” was all Marcus said next, feeling heat crush against his cheeks from within, damn certain he looked as red as a brother ever could. Nervous, he felt his fingers shake slightly as they hooked around Wrench’s hips, drawing their bodies closer ‘til they were pressed comfortably, not firmly, together.

The only sound in the Hackerspace was their equally rushed breathing, intermingled by pace, and it somehow reassured Marcus that Wrench felt something more for him – that he wasn’t just the ‘best friend’ and ‘gay experiment’. Would he be fine if he was, though? Of course he would – at least, that’s what he kept telling himself whilst leaning down and, at long last, sealing off the space between their lips.

Wrench’s lips were soft and chapped and inviting. _Quite the messed up yet appreciable oxymoron_ , Marcus thought. He definitely didn’t lack in experience, either – that chick back in the diner must’ve got lucky. Not that he was jealous. Or remotely cared whatsoever. Nah, that wasn’t how Marcus Holloway worked...

Wrench parted their mouths, a slim string of saliva coming with him. Marcus had never read an expression so fast in his life, taking in his friend’s – lover’s? - definitive features; scanning across those slightly prominent cheekbones to the port-wine stain birthmark above his left eye. _You’re beautiful_ , Marcus thought, and all it took was a surprised look in Wrench’s orbs for him to acknowledge he’d said that aloud. He swallowed, and followed through with it – wasn’t like it was a lie. “You’re so – fuckin’ beautiful.”

The anarchist smirked, and wrapped his arms snugly around Marcus’ neck. The latter’s grip tightened on his denim-clad hips, unprepared for anything. ‘Anything’ being whatever Wrench’s reaction was, which turned out to be a low, huskily spoken:

“Catching feelings, M?”

Said question nearly choked him up. Managing to maintain the mood, Marcus gave a smile and no answer, and meshed their mouths back together. Barely separating them to breathe, as he was enjoying this level of intimacy maybe a little too much for his own good, the man of clearly caught feelings rested his forehead against his – yeah, without a doubt - lover’s. He had a thought. “Want some music? I’ve got a playlist...”

 

An album belonging to some alternative singer he couldn’t care less about right now streamed through the ‘space, mixing in rather than muting the men’s sounds. Bare before each other on the couch (in their defence, it was the only remotely comfortable option that the place had to offer), the television screen behind them in pitch black stasis from being ignored so long, Marcus pushed pale wrists into the couch cushion beneath Wrench’s back, added to the already heavy amount of red-to-violet bruises scattered across tattooed skin and grinded hips into hips. Spine arching further, his lover below released a gasp and a moan, nails digging into Marcus’ arms, sure to leave some nasty, semi-permanent marks. Totally worth it, of course, to hear Wrench like this.

“Jesus, Marcus, _ah_ , just –”

Nuzzling his throat’s symbol of anarchy, Marcus couldn’t have acted more innocent. “Just - what?”

“Just...” Wrench sighed, head tipping back and spine gradually lowering. “Just fuck me already.”

The lover on top, despite himself, snorted. “Never the patient type, huh?”

“Oh,” the other man replied huskily, when Marcus rolled – reluctantly – off him to grab the condom in his jeans’ back pocket (don’t ask, seriously), “you know me so well.”

Speedy in his efforts, Marcus headed back over to the man who nearly made him drop dead right then, right there, simply by turning onto his stomach. “It’s almost like we’ve been friends for a year,” he spoke jokingly, “or is it two?”

“Oh, Marcus!” an overly feminine voice exclaimed from Wrench’s mouth, “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten our anniversary!”

Humming, Marcus got onto his knees behind he whose heart was so terribly broken and carefully rolled the latex onto his member. “I’ll make it up to you.” Seeing the tension build in his anarchist’s muscles had him frowning and he placed a gentle hand on one of Wrench’s hips. “Hey, you’re still good with this, right?”

“Performance anxiety.” Wrench quipped, trying to hide the quiver in his voice but pretty much failing.

Marcus rubbed his hip reassuringly. “Look, I don’t want to force you into anythi –”

“Marcus,” the seriousness in his tone surprised him, “it’s fine. C’mon. Show me.” There was a pause, followed by a very direct, half-lidded look over the shoulder and what was basically, never admittedly, a whine: “Please?”

He thought about it. He read his lover’s face and knew he needed this – wanted this – was perfectly fine with it. “Okay,” Marcus breathed, nodding and positioning himself, “okay.”

 

Maybe the biggest shock of the evening was Wrench’s swift adjustment to his cock. He was – He was a sound machine, variating between talking dirty and vocalising incomprehensible, pleasured noises, gripping the cushion underneath him so hard it started to tear. Marcus didn’t care – or notice ‘til afterwards. He was in the Seventh Heaven, hadn’t even acknowledged the playlist had ended and that now it was their noises alone in the atmosphere.

Wrench was far from the timid person in general situations, but right now, he was at the loudest Marcus had heard him. If he’d have been in less of a haze, he might’ve told him to try and not destroy the couch – unfortunately – or, fortunately – that wasn’t the case. Rocking his hips against Wrench’s ass, Marcus leaned forward so he could find a firm support, resting his palms on the couch arm his lover was near decimating. “God, Jesus, Wrench –”

“Lo – Loving the titles, Marcus.” the apparent God plus Jesus exhaled shakily, earning him a slap on the ass that made him yelp – and talk more. “Ooh, _kinky_.”

“Shut,” Marcus growled, biting Wrench’s left earlobe, “up.”

Wrench chuckled, a whispered sound, the husk rolling up his throat to accompany it driving a shiver up the man on top’s spine. “Only if you go faster.”

The man on top gritted his teeth and gave a chuckle of his own, far huskier, though less effective with the man below already shuddering. “Fine.”

 

Wrench screamed so loud, they’d both be damned if Sitara, Josh and Ray hadn’t heard him from however many miles away they were. He didn’t scream the one time, either. He screamed multiple, each as euphoric as the last, each pushing Marcus closer and closer to the edge. His thrusting was closer to slamming now, not violent so much as needy, ‘cause he was desperate for that incomparable feeling of completion via climax.

“Wrench,” he breathed jaggedly, “I think I –”

“FU – CK!” his lover cut him clean off, piercing the Hackerspace with a shout of surrender as he came, almost immediately experiencing total bodily collapse.

Thank fuck he’d been close too. Marcus was quieter - gruffly grunting and gasping when he peaked – and had more self-control, falling back onto the fairly untouched side of the couch instead of collapsing upon the collapsed. For a moment, neither spoke, equally out of breath.

“I can’t believe I got laid ‘cause o’ Jimmy Siska.” Marcus announced after a little while, which drew a laugh from his lover, who was reaching for his mask.

Fixing it firmly on his face, Wrench waited a few seconds for the power to come back on before replying. “I can’t believe I got laid.”

Marcus smiled, temporarily silent to allow for processing. Then, something hit him - something far more serious than whether Wrench’s feelings for his just-lover extended beyond friendship, benefits included.

“Shit,” he hissed, anxiousness unsubtle, “how are we gonna’ explain the couch to Sitara?”

**Author's Note:**

> it's my first time writing these two, so hopefully my interpretations of them are not ooc. (": i may write more for wrencus in the future, depending on how well this fic does.
> 
> thanks for reading! ❤︎


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